


stay

by thisisapaige



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fix-It, Frottage, Happy Ending, I found peace in writing this, Light Angst, M/M, Minor Eileen Leahy/Sam Winchester, POV Dean Winchester, Post-Canon, Post-Episode: s15e20 Carry On, i hope it helps someone else as well
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:08:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28945671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisisapaige/pseuds/thisisapaige
Summary: Standing on the bridge beside his brother, Dean looks around.Something’s wrong.Because this Heaven, this place Dean supposedly deserves, just seems so... empty.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 120
Kudos: 471





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well, here's me throwing my fix-it fic upon the growing pile.  
> I just really, really needed to make some kind of sense out of that ending. I could feel a burden lifting off me as I wrote this. I hope you'll find peace when you are done, too.
> 
> The draft is complete! I'll update every Saturday. I'm giving myself some extra time since this is the first thing I've written in the present tense that's more than 1000 words. Gotta check that grammar! <3 
> 
> Enjoy, my friends, and [please feel free to say hi to me on Tumblr!](https://thisisapaige.tumblr.com/)

The brook babbles. The birds sing. The wind blows and the sun shines. It’s beautiful, peaceful, and wrong.

This is Heaven? The Heaven Dean deserves is a silent bar, an endless road, and a bridge in the middle of nowhere? That doesn’t feel right.

Dean’s world has long since expanded beyond his car and his brother. Those are only two pieces to the larger whole of Dean’s life. There’s more to it than that. Family doesn’t end in blood.

All at once, the realization takes Dean over.

“Sammy,” Dean says, the smile fading from his face, “something’s wrong.”

“You think so?” Sam asks.

“Yeah.” Dean steps back onto the road. “Tell me something, Sam. How did you die?”

Sam, leaning on the bridge railing, turns his head to study Dean. He furrows his brow, clearly not understanding Dean’s sudden shift in mood.

“Old age,” Sams carefully says, as if he expects Dean to blow up at any moment.

“Right. Okay. So, what did you do all those years?”

It is a simple question, one which requires a simple answer. Sam takes a long time to formulate one.

“I--” Sam swallows, thinks. “I got married. Had a kid.”

“Good for you,” Dean says without an ounce of enthusiasm. Something like that should make Dean happy. “Who’d you marry?”

Sam's eyes widen as he considers the question. Dean knows that kid, knows everything about him. It's clear that Sam doesn’t have a clue.

“I don’t--” Sam rubs his temples. “I don’t know. I don’t even remember what she looks like. She’s just… blurry.”

“You wanna know what I did?” Dean says, pointing to the vehicle which appears exactly as his Baby. But Baby hasn’t worn Kansas plates in years. It can't be her. “I drove. Listened to the same song on repeat. That’s it.”

“But it’s been over forty years,” Sam says.

“Yeah?” Dean asks. “Then why do you still look like you’re in your thirties?”

The brook stops flowing.

Sam holds his hands in front of his face and turns them over. He touches his nose and cheeks, feeling smooth skin, then runs them through his long brown hair. He gasps.

“Dean,” Sams says, “something’s wrong.”

The birds cut off all at once.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you.” Dean casts his arms wide, encompassing the entirety of his Heaven, his bleak, quiet, Heaven full of vast open spaces. “This is it? Where are all the people? If you did have a wife, wouldn’t she be here? And where’s Ellen and Jo and Charlie? Did Kevin make it here? Where’s…”

The wind stills.

“Where’s Cas?” Dean asks.

The name echoes across the newly silent Heaven.

“You’re right.” Sam joins Dean in the middle of the road. “There’s no way he wouldn’t be here.”

“There’s no way we wouldn’t have saved him,” Dean whispers, his conviction strengthening with every word.

Dean would never let things end like that, not after what Cas told him.

“You’re right.” Sam blinks like he’s awakening from a dream and stands tall. “There’s no way.”

“I’m telling you, Sam, this Heaven it--” Dean searches for the right word. It’s on the tip of his tongue, fighting for freedom. He knows if he says it, he’d be released from this dreamland, this nightmare. “It just seems so... empty.

The sun goes black.

And so does everything else.

Sam and Dean stand in infinite blackness. There is no bridge, no car, no Heaven. There is nothing.

A slow, sarcastic clap comes from behind the brothers. They turn to face the sound.

Sitting in its throne, still wearing Meg’s face, the Empty slaps its hand together one last time. It raises its eyebrow and offers a smug smile.

“You,” Dean says.

“Me,” the Empty replies, “I must say, it took you boys a while to figure it out. I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. You only have two brain cells to rub together between you.”

“What do you want with us?” Sam asks.

“Oh, nothing, really.” The Empty shrugs. “It's just part of our deal.”

The Empty looks to its left, if there is a left amid the nothingness. Either way, when Dean follows its gaze, he sees someone who makes him reach for his gun.

Except Dean doesn’t have a gun. He doesn’t have his knife, either. Apparently, when a man goes to the afterlife he truly doesn’t get to keep his toys. What a rip.

Well, Dean has fists. Time to pull some punches.

Billie scoffs when she sees Dean put up his dukes. She walks across the darkness, her right hand wrapped around the handle of her scythe and one arm of her leather jacket flowing behind her. When she comes to rest next to the Empty, she taps her scythe against the nothingness. It ripples.

“Hello, boys.” Billie’s smile is dangerous. Unblinking, she looks from Dean to Sam. “Sam, do you remember what I said back when we first met?”

Sam’s eyes dart back and forth. That Sammy, always plotting, always thinking. Dean hopes Sam comes up with something because Dean has no idea how they can escape the Empty’s clutches, considering they’re surrounded by it.

“That you would throw us into the Empty,” Sam says.

“That’s right.” Billie grins with all her teeth, sharper than any vampire’s fangs. “I keep my promises.”

“So,” Dean says, inching forward to put himself between Sam and Billie, “what now?”

Billie raises her chin and stares Dean in the eye. “I should thank you boys.”

“Thank us?” Sam asks.

“You let Lucifer into that secret bunker of yours. You let him kill yet another of my reapers.”

“ _Your_ reapers?” Dean looks at the scythe in Billie’s hand. He recognizes it. As he should, since he used it to kill Death. Well, the first one anyway. “But you’re dead. That reaper-- Betty or whatever-- became Death.”

Without a hint of emotion, Billie asks, “Did she?”

“She read the book!”

“How do you know? To everyone but Death, it appears as blank pages.”

The Empty laughs.

“Oh,” Sam breathes, his shoulders sagging.

“What?” Dean glances at the smiling Empty, at Billie’s smug face, at Sam’s despondent expression. “What, Sam?”

“It means,” Billie says, readying her scythe one-handed, “we’ve been guiding you along this path the whole time. We wanted you to do exactly what you did. We wanted you to end up here.”

Billie charges forward, her long leather jacket trailing behind her and her scythe gleaming with wicked nothingness. Dean raises his fists. Sure, they won't do him much good but Dean Winchester never goes down without a fight.

Before Billie can reach him, someone grabs Dean by the shoulder and yanks him backward. He’s pulled through the darkness, soars across the nothingness, and Billie can't reach him. Just before Dean loses sight of her, he sees her jacket fall off her shoulders. He catches a glimpse of the arm not holding the scythe, useless, shrunken, and dead.

The hands let Dean go when the blackness closes. He pauses and catches his breath, checking on Sam’s safety out of the corner of his eye. Sam's fine, if a little dishevelled from their sudden backwards flight.

There's also someone behind him.

"Cas?" It's Dean who speaks first, though Sam's lips form the words. Dean's sure Sam's expression of disbelief matches his own.

"Hello, Dean," Cas says softly, simply, like he hadn't declared his undying love to Dean before, well, dying. "Sam."

"What's happening?" Sam asks. "What's going on? Why--"

Cas holds a finger to his lips, signalling Sam to be quiet. "Not here. Follow me."

Cas leads Sam and Dean through the infinite darkness. Dean can't stop watching Cas. Wherever Cas steps, the darkness ripples with lines of blue-white light. In the middle of the Empty, in the middle of the inky black night, Cas is the light.

Dean’s light.

Sam doesn't speak with words as they follow Cas across the Empty. He doesn't have to. The Winchester brothers spent their whole lives together, creating their own language of eyebrow movements and significant looks.

And Sam doesn’t stop asking Dean how he feels.

Dean answers with a shrug, an all-purpose, "I don't know," because it's true.

Sam tries for more, his eyebrows wiggling like angry earthworms, but, after a few more shrugs, Sam lets it go. For now. No way will Dean be safe from the Samuel Inquisition once they can talk.

For hours, for minutes, for seconds, Sam and Dean allow Cas to lead them into the darkness, neither hesitating. Dean can’t tell how far they’ve come. The Empty is all around them, its cloying blackness unchanging. Cas, however, never pauses in his forward march. Sam and Dean hurry after him.

After seconds, minutes, hours, Dean hears it.

Noise.

The Empty, which Cas has described to Dean as the absence of everything, is loud.

Cas stops. The action is so abrupt, Sam and Dean both nearly run into Cas's back. Once they right themselves, they exchange glances. Dean raises his eyebrow. Sam shakes his head.

Yeah, this piece of the Empty appears the same as everything else: black nothingness.

Cas raises his hands and flattens his palms against thin air. The air shimmers in response. After taking a short, stabilizing breath, Cas begins to glow. It starts at his heart, the same blue white light of his grace, and radiates outward until it surges through his palms.

Sam shields his eyes but Dean doesn’t want to look away. Cas is beautiful like this, with his grace at the surface. Dean believes an angel's grace is analogous to a soul and here Cas is laying it bare for Dean to behold. He’d done it many times before, in more ways than one.

The light of Cas’s grace doesn’t hurt Dean’s eyes. In fact, it soothes Dean. Cas is made of lightning and stardust. He is a being of free will and love, a unique creature among his own kind.

And he loves Dean.

It’s overwhelming, even now. Dean doesn’t know how much time has actually passed since Cas’s declaration. It feels like a long time but a dream, even a poor one crafted by the Empty, can span a lifetime in a blink of an eye.

Well, Dean’s life _was_ a blink in that false dream.

Thankfully, Dean woke up. This moment, watching as Cas glows with his grace, is real. Dean knows it’s real because his heart surges at the sight. Dean knows it’s real because Cas is real. Cas told him so, back in that school when they were seeking a way to return all those souls to Hell.

_You asked me what about all this is real? We are._

The words echo in Dean’s mind. He didn’t fully comprehend it at the time. He remembers the conviction in Cas’s words and how they seemed to say more than Dean could percieve.

Now, Dean knows. Cas has been telling Dean all along. Dean just didn’t hear him, didn’t understand.

All along, ever since they met, Cas has been telling Dean he loves him.

Dean may have been blindsided back in the dungeon but he understands now. He understands. And Dean--

A loud, echoing crack forces Dean out of his thoughts. The patch of air before Cas, glowing with residual grace, splits open. Like a set of double doors, the two pieces of air fall inward and reveal a square of white light.

The noise becomes louder, rings.

Cas beckons Dean and Sam forward and steps into the light. After they nod at each other, Sam and Dean approach the square. Another glance, another nod, and then, as one, they enter it.

It’s pure white on the other side, a sharp contrast to the previous blackness. Dean blinks to clear his vision but it’s hard to see beyond the bloom. A hand rests on Dean’s shoulder, the touch gentle. Dean blinks again and Cas’s face comes into focus. He smiles.

Cas is here. It’s okay. Dean turns his head. Sam is here. It’s okay.

“This is a safe place,” Cas says. “I apologize for the brightness.”

In response to Cas’s voice, the noise begins again. Dean rotates in a circle to figure out where it comes from, but he sees nothing but the white light, Sam, and Cas.

“Cas?” Sam asks, clutching his ears, “What's that sound?”

Cas raises his hands over his head, then lowers them like he’s trying to push down air. The noise, the ringing, quiets. It fully stops when Cas’s hands reach his waist.

Oh. The ‘turn down the volume’ gesture. Dean finds the fact that Cas uses it and that it works adorable. Dean remembers teaching Cas that move.

“Forgive them,” Cas says, “they’re excited.”

Once again, Dean checks the white for anyone else. “Uh, Cas? Who’re they?”

“Angels, mostly,” Cas answers, “and a few demons.”

As Cas speaks, Dean finally notices that the white isn’t solid and still. It moves, shimmers, and shakes. Dean turns his palm over and holds it near his chest. A ball of concentrated light, about the size of a golf ball, hovers over his palm. It moves in a figure eight pattern, fast and excited, and Dean can't stop his giggle. The light’s little sparks tickle his skin.

“Wait,” Sam says, his eyes wide in wonder, “how many are there?”

“Thousands. Perhaps more,” Cas says. “They don’t need vessels here. I suppose to you two, they look like white light.”

“Yeah, they do,” Sam says. “Why do you look like, well, you?”

“My body came along with my grace when I was taken. It has been helpful.”

The divine golf ball in Dean’s hand flares. Dean watches in wonder as it jumps up and down.

“Sparky here seems happy to see me,” Dean says. “Since when are angels happy to see me? Or any of us, really?”

With Sparky distracting Dean, he misses Cas’s advance. Dean jumps at the sound of Cas’s voice right in front of him.

“Sparky?” In response to Cas’s questioning tone, the ball of light bounces and flashes multicoloured lights. Cas smiles and chuckles. “It seems to like the new name.”

Dean should have a reply to that but his mouth goes dry at the sight of Cas’s smiling face, right there, real and in front of him.

“To answer your question, Dean,” Cas says, “this particular group is happy to see you.”

“Why’s that?” Sam asks when Dean fails to do so.

“Because, now that you’re here, we can escape.”

That catches Dean’s attention. “What're you talking about?”

“When Billie sent Jack into the Empty, he exploded like a bomb.” Cas indicates all the light around him. “It woke everyone up.”

“Everyone?” Sam asks.

Sure, Sparky is Dean’s new friend. It’s all warm and bouncy and tingly in a good way. However, the Empty houses all the dead demons and angels, some of whom should never awaken. Dean doesn’t want to think of names but he couldn’t stop the flash of milky white eyes in his mind.

As if it feels Dean’s distress, Sparky jumps from Dean’s palm and taps against Dean’s cheek, sending gentle sparks of light over his skin. Dean smiles his thanks when Sparky returns to his hand.

“Yes,” Cas says. “When I first arrived here, it was chaos. I’ve worked to change that. I’ve been doing my best to avoid those who would not serve the cause. Those I've gathered are allies. They want to help.”

The ringing starts up again, a single shrill note. Sparky joins in.

At Cas’s gesture, the noise stops.

"All they want is to return to where they belong: Heaven or Hell," Cas explains. "They do not have bodies, so they will ascend or descend when they leave this place. I know Heaven's struggling to maintain itself. Perhaps, this could help to return balance."

“Okay, buddy,” Dean says to Sparky. Then, Dean looks at Cas and nods. “How can we help?”

Cas smiles again and that is all it takes for Dean to lose his train of thought. Dean needs to learn how to handle all these butterflies that have taken residence in his stomach. They seem to have invited their cousins, grandparents, and children for an extended stay.

“The Empty isn’t designed to keep humans in,” Cas says. “I’ve been mapping the place. There is a weak point at the edge. I suspect you two will be able to expose it.”

Dean nods. “Kinda like Purgatory.”

“Yes. It’s similar. Though I don’t believe we’ll need to, uh…” Cas tilts his head and searches for the phrase. When he finds it he uses air quotes. “...hitch a ride.”

Dean grins. What a dork. Dean fucking missed this dork.

“I’m in,” Sam says. “I’m ready to get out of here, that’s for sure.”

“Same here,” Dean says.

Cas sags, just slightly, and Dean can tell he’s relieved. “Thank you. Rest for now. We’ll move soon. I must tell everyone to prepare.”

Dean tries to follow, though he doesn't notice until Sam grabs his shoulder to hold him back. Cas disappears into the white bloom. Sam drags Dean to a random spot in the middle of the white space. They look at each other, shrug, and sit down. A few seconds later, Sparky joins them, settling on Dean’s shoulder.

“You good, Dean?” Sam asks.

“I’m good. Fantastic, actually.” Dean touches his chest and remembers blood flowing through his fingers. “No random rebar here.”

Sam winces. “Dude. No jokes. It may not have happened but it felt real, okay?”

“Fair enough.” Dean smacks his lips. “Okay, but, like, did you not call-- uh, text I guess-- Eileen? Not even once?”

Sam runs a hand through his hair and makes a strangled sound in his throat. “I didn’t. I don’t know why. It was like-- like I forgot I could or something.”

“Weird.” Dean hums. “And the Empty thought that this dream would keep us occupied?”

“Apparently it did.”

“Must’ve been the dog.”

“Wait!” Sam sits up straight. “Miracle! What happened to her?”

“We gave her back to her owners when Jack brought everyone back.”

“Oh, right!” Sam slaps his forehead. “Still shaking off the dream I guess.” He lowered his hand and grins at Dean. “Actually, I remember a few manly tears when we gave her over.”

“Dude! Shut up.” Dean crosses his arms and tries to hide his heating cheeks. “She was cute, okay?”

“Admit it. You like dogs.”

“Shut it!”

A ringing titter sounds in Dean’s ear. Great. Now even Sparky laughs at him.

The white flashes, blinking rapidly through all the colours of the rainbow before returning to normal. Dean only has time to make an inquisitive noise before Cas appears and sits down next to him.

“They’re ready to move,” Cas says.

Wow. Cas is close. He's really close. Yet, he doesn’t look at Dean. Actually, Cas hasn’t looked Dean right in the eye at all. It’s odd because Cas does that all the time. Yeah, Dean’s complained about it in the past but now he wants it. He needs that connection, that warmth. Dean leans in until his knee presses into Cas’s thigh. Cas breathes in sharply and his eyelids flutter. Cas still doesn’t look at Dean.

Sam notices all of this and the kid, bless him for this and bless him for never ever saying anything and bless him for being the real saint of the family, stands up and walks away. He waves off Cas’s concerned question, saying he needs to stretch his legs.

Cas doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything at all, but he also doesn’t back away from Dean’s touch. Sparks tingle down Dean’s neck. Dean jumps, then casts an accusing glare at his shoulder. Sparky wiggles back and forth on Dean’s jacket collar, unaffected.

Wait. Is Sparky acting as Dean’s divine wing… ball now? Wow. Dean’s life is weird.

“Sam’ll be fine out there, right?” Dean asks, choosing an easy topic.

“He’s safe,” Cas says.

They lapse back into silence.

At Sparky’s spark filled insistence, Dean says the first thought that comes to his mind, “Missed you.”

At the same time, Cas says, “I’m sorry.”

Cas’s head snaps up. He narrows his eyes at Dean.

Dean’s head jerks back. He stares at Cas with wide eyes.

“Sorry?” Dean asks. “What do you have to be sorry about?”

“I felt it,” Cas says, “the moment the Empty took you. I tried to get to you. I tried to pull you out but I couldn’t.”

“That’s not your fault. Between the Empty and Billie, we were in deep.”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m supposed to be your guardian. I failed. I’m sorry.”

“Cas…”

That’s all Dean says. He can’t think of the right words. He doesn’t know how to explain that Cas doesn’t need to be a guardian. All he needs to be is a friend and a member of Dean’s family. He's already both.

There is a third thing Dean wants Cas to be but Dean’s too afraid to even think it, let alone ask for it.

Sparky hops from Dean’s shoulder to Cas’s knee. It jumps up and down, a trail of light beneath it like some kind of angelic pogo stick, higher and higher until Cas cups his palms before his chest. It bounces in between Cas’s palms. Happy with its new perch, Sparky flashes a multitude of colours. Castiel raises the ball of light to eye level.

“Hello,” Cas greets Sparky politely. “Pleased to meet you. My name is Castiel.”

Sparky wiggles.

“You’re right,” Cas says. “He is very kind.”

Sparky rolls across Cas’s palm, rather dramatically for a little ball of light.

“No. I’m not saying that.”

Sparky stays still a moment then floats just above Cas’s hands. It bursts, sending sparks out from its round body, crackling like fireworks.

“Yes. You are correct. I do.”

Dean watches the proceedings with fascination. It’s a conversation. An actual, real, whole conversation.

“Hold on, Cas. Are you talking to Sparky?” Dean asks.

“Of course,” Cas says. At the same time, Sparky jumps and turns a full circle in the air. “Yes, I know. He takes a bit sometimes. It’s endearing most of the time.”

“Hey!” Dean shakes his finger at the glowy duo. “I know that was a dig at me.”

Sparky and Cas exchange a glance, no small feat considering only one of them has eyes, and Cas smiles wide. Cas extends his palms to Dean.

“Here,” Cas says, “Sparky was your friend first.”

As soon as Dean takes Sparky back, it hurries back to its previous spot on Dean’s shoulder. That seems to be its favourite place. Dean's okay with that.

“What exactly is Sparky, anyway?” Dean asks.

“It’s a remnant of power. It is similar to an angel's grace but I don't think that's quite it. It’s been lost in the Empty for a long, long, time. Whatever it truly is has been lost to history. It is small but is life all the same. Therefore, I brought it here.”

Talking about Sparky makes Cas smile. Dean likes it when Cas smiles. This way, Dean forgets he’s in the middle of the Empty and not hanging out on the bunker’s couch, talking about random things with Cas while a movie plays in the background. It’s nice. Dean allows himself the fantasy, for a little while.

Sparky titters, bouncing at the edge of Dean’s vision.

“You’re welcome,” Cas says. “Nobody gets left behind, even someone as little as you.”

“Good policy,” Dean says.

“You taught me.”

Cas looks at Dean now and Dean fights the urge to hide his face. Because, when Cas looks at Dean, his wide blue eyes are full of light, of adoration, of love. It’s overwhelming.

But Dean doesn’t hide. He stares right back, trying to reflect back even half of what Cas so easily gives. Dean tries because Cas is here, Cas is real, and Cas deserves everything.

Sparky leaps off Dean’s shoulder. Once it is halfway between Dean and Cas, it sends a shower of sparks down between them in a shining rainbow of colour. They fall through the air between Dean and Cas like shooting stars. The show ends when Sparky lands on Cas’s head.

Dean laughs because the little light ends up tangled in Cas’s hair. Cas hides his face in his hand. However, Dean sees Castiel’s shoulders shake. He's laughing, too. Sparky spins, a poor attempt to free itself. It tangles itself even more.

Dean takes pity on poor little Sparky. Dean doesn’t think about it. He reaches out and grabs Cas’s head. Cas goes still under Dean’s touch.

“C’mon, Sparky.” Dean untwists a strand of hair from around Sparky’s body. “You’re so small. You should be more careful or you’ll hurt yourself.” Sparky pathetically stutters between black and white while Dean unwraps the last bit of hair. “There you go, pal. Now hop back on my shoulder and stay there, all right?”

Dutifully, Sparky complies. Dean chuckles and, like the dumbass he could sometimes be, ruffles Cas’s hair before he leans back.

Cas peeks out from under his palm, his wide eyes darting between Sparky and Dean. He covers his face with both hands, takes a deep breath, and stands.

“We should--” Cas turns his back on Dean. “We should go. We’ve made everyone wait long enough.”

When Castiel walks away, there is a stuttering, high pitched ring. It comes from all around, from all the beings hidden in the white. Sparky joins in. Dean can’t help but think it is teasing laughter.


	2. Chapter 2

As he leads the way out of the Empty, Cas’s weird entourage of various bits of demon smoke and angel grace trails behind him in the form of long rays of light, fanning out on either side of him like wings. Dean and Sam walk in between the wings, watching them shimmer in the darkness. 

Yeah. There is no way they haven’t been noticed. 

Sam and Dean are on high alert, peering into every patch of darkness, every bit of nothing. It doesn’t do them much good. There is nothing but the absence, the blackness all around them. 

Dean doesn’t have a gun, a knife, a rock, or even a sharp tack. He does, however, have Sparky riding on his shoulder. That is pretty cool. 

Sam’s shit-eating grin doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean nor does his soft chuckle. Every time Sam glances at Dean, he makes that face and makes that sound. 

By the fourth time, Dean gives up pretending he doesn't notice. “Okay, I’ll bite. What is it?”

“Nothing.” Sam fails to suppress another chuckle. “It’s just that, here we are, a couple of humans walking through the afterlife meant for angels and demons, planning a prison break--”

“Hey, might as well make it three for three.”

“--and you are the happiest I’ve seen in a while.”

“Dude, I thrive on conflict.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it.” Sam puts a finger to his lips and offers a lopsided grin. “Now, I _wonder_ what could’ve caused it?”

The killer of monsters, the slayer of Gods, the Righteous Man who had been to Hell and back, sticks his tongue out at his little brother and rolls his eyes. He returns his attention to the front. Cas’s trench coat swishes back and forth as he marches through the Empty, lighting the way through the darkness. Shit, Cas is such a badass.

Again, Sam chuckles. Dean must’ve smiled again. Whatever. Dean is allowed to be happy that Cas is back in town.

Did-- Did Dean just think that?

The Empty isn’t quiet, not with all those beings in Cas’s new wings. They sigh and gasp, ringing out words in their incomprehensible-to-humans voices as they travelled. 

They make the Empty loud.

Yeah. There is no way they are getting out of here without a fight. 

The Empty is the same all around them. It doesn’t change no matter how much they move, no matter how far they walk. Cas never slows, never stops, and Dean trusts him to lead. However, the longer they go without interruption, the more anxious Dean’s silent steps become. He keeps checking behind him, expecting to see Billie any second. Sam does the same thing.

It’s impossible to tell how much time passes. Dean walks for a thousand years. Dean walks for thirty seconds. It’s infinite. It’s finite.

Heaven’s a dream upon a dream, fake but bearable. Hell’s a fiery nightmare, painful and harsh. The Empty, however, is nothing, absence, blackness. It sets Dean’s teeth on edge. 

Cas stops. When he does, his wings keep going. Dean half-expects to hear the ping of an elastic band when the light collects on either side of Cas’s back. Now Cas looks like he has those fluffy white angel wings from the movies Dean expected back when he first met his angel. They are made of light rather than feathers but it fits Cas well. It’s adorable, yet badass at the same time. 

Cas glances to the left, the right, then behind him. Dean catches a glimpse of the intense concentration on Cas’s face. Dean resists making a joke. Barely. 

Sam crosses his arms and waits. Dean, on the other hand, can’t stay still. He never could. He rocks back and forth on his heels and tries so, so hard not to hum. 

He lasts a few minutes. A couple of hours. Some seconds. Whatever. 

“Hey, Cas?” Dean asks. “What’s next?”

“We’re close,” Cas says. “Dean. Sam. Please go on ahead.”

Dean raises an eyebrow. Sam answers with a furrowed brow. Yeah, Dean doesn’t know either. They shrug in sync then do as Cas commands.

The wings ring out a friendly little greeting as Dean passes. Sparky flashes a rainbow of colours in response. Dean pauses and checks on his new itty-bitty friend. He gestures to the wings, giving Sparky an opportunity to join its fellow light-based beings. Sparky rolls one way then the other, like one of those dolls with a rounded bottom, and Dean swears it looks just like a human shaking his head. Maybe Dean and his angelic-ish golf ball of light are starting to understand each other.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

Before joining Sam, standing a few feet away tapping his foot, Dean catches Cas looking at him. This angel, this being of light and grace who commanded God’s armies, who raised Dean from perdition, who planned a breakout from the big Empty on his own, smiles at Dean. Cas smiles at Dean, the lowly human, with soft fondness and love.

Fuck. Cas loves Dean. Cas _loves_ Dean. Sure, Dean knows, has heard the three little words right from Cas’s mouth, but it doesn’t matter. Dean could hear it fifty, a hundred, a million times, and it would still hit him like a freight train each time he remembers, each time he is reminded. 

Cas loves Dean.

Holy fuck. 

Okay, okay. Time to get back on task. Once he gets topside he can deal with… that.

He hopes. 

Cas’s literal angel wings light the way. Remaining within the glow, Sam and Dean advance with caution. Both brothers scan the blank space before them, ready to pinpoint any hint of change or anything at all. 

It starts slow. It’s a tiny shimmer, a little shake in the darkness. At first, Dean thinks his eyes are drying out but, after he rubs them, the disturbance is still there. Then, he feels it. 

Wind. 

Sam and Dean stop at the same time and exchange glances. Yeah, Sam feels it, too. As one, Sam and Dean continue forward. 

The tiny shimmer becomes a big shimmer. The big shimmer becomes an obvious shake. The obvious shake becomes a disturbance in the force. The oppressive darkness sputters, the visual reminiscent of the static on the televisions of Dean’s childhood when it couldn’t find a channel. Kids these days with their high-def and surround sound will never know the struggle. 

The static is a wall. It runs across the Empty. Dean can’t see the edge of it on either side. 

Cas places a palm on Dean’s back, right between his shoulders. The warmth of the sudden touch stops Dean in his tracks. His breath hitches and he can’t stop it. Dean leans into the to touch. Cas doesn’t remove his hand. 

Sam, who Dean owes a fruit basket and a wingman moment with Eileen once this is all over, does not comment. He got a palm to the back, too, but he acts like a normal person and Cas lets go of him with no problem. 

“We made it,” Cas says.

Cas moves closer to Dean until almost his whole arm rests against Dean’s back. Dean licks his lips when he notices Cas watching him. Sam gets another fruit basket when he still says nothing when Dean shuffles closer to Cas and presses their shoulders together. Sparky, on the other hand, gets a finger wag when he jumps between Dean and Cas and lets loose a shower of sparks that land in Dean’s hair. The smell of burnt hair singes Dean's nose.

Sam laughs at Sparky and, okay, Dean will allow that one. It _is_ funny. Even Cas’s angel wings join in. 

“Alright,” Sam says, once the angel wings quiet down, “what do we do now?”

There’s an awkward silence where Cas doesn’t answer, the wings don’t move, and Dean stares at his boots. Even Sparky is oddly dim. 

“I don’t know,” Cas says. “I thought I’d figure it out when we got here.”

Dean snorts. “Making it up as we go, huh?”

“It seems to work for us.”

Dean almost apologizes for being a bad influence on Cas but he doesn’t. He isn’t sorry at all. If anything, Dean’s proud of Cas. 

Another bout of silence occurs, not as awkward this time, while everyone ponders about what to do next. Well, Sam and Cas ponder. Dean mainly focuses on Cas’s warmth right there, right next to him. Dean didn’t believe he’d ever feel that again. 

No one comes up with anything. Sam’s racking though that big brain of his, if the Constipated Face of Concentration is anything to go by. Cas’s head reaches a near ninety-degree angle, an expression usually reserved for Dean’s more obscure pop culture references. 

Sure, Dean’s thinking about Cas. He thinks about Cas all the time. He can multitask, however. He’s good at it. There are usually about twelve different thoughts skating through his brain at one time. 

And right now, he’s thinking about static. He’s thinking about all the ways he’d make those cheap motel television sets work when he was a kid. Sammy needed his cartoons and, well, sometimes Dean needed to catch a quick glimpse of the skin channels. 

Usually, he’d use a dial, or adjust the antenna, or just smack it. That last one works the most often, for most things actually.

Sparky jumps off Dean’s shoulder, blinking brighter and brighter once Dean catches it in his palms. It rolls towards Dean’s wrist, then back to the edges of his fingers. Then, when Dean doesn’t do anything, tinkles like a teeny tiny bell. 

“Sparky?” Dean raised his hands to peer at his little buddy. “What’s up, buddy?”

Cas pats Dean’s back. “It wants you to throw it at the wall.”

“It what?” Dean brings Sparky up to his face so it can see his wide eyes. “No way, Sparky. You might get hurt!”

Sparky makes an indignant chime and flashes the colour red.

Cas chuckles. “It says it was your idea.”

“My idea?” Dean gasps, recalling his thoughts just before Sparky perked up. “Dude. Dude! You’re reading my mind?”

Sparky flattens against Dean’s palms, his sparks gentle and light dim. 

“Nah, little one, it’s alright,” Dean says. “I was just surprised, is all.”

Sparky glows brightly when he returns to his regular golf ball form.

“But I don’t wanna hurt you.” Dean shakes his head and puts Sparky back on his shoulder. 

“Wait,” Sam says. “Why does it want you to throw it?”

“Y’know how you smack the side of the old TVs and sometimes you can get it to focus? I kinda thought we could try something like that.”

Cas steps away from Dean, trailing his hand along Dean’s arm as he goes. Dean follows the touch, trying to make it last as long as possible. He almost grabs Cas’s hand before he can leave. 

Almost.

The wings follow Cas, quiet, shimmering gently. All those beings in there seemed more than happy to follow Cas, to go where he takes them. It’s kind of amazing. Dean remembers a time when Cas couldn’t go near an angel without a blade in each hand. Cas has killed, well, a whole lot of angels.

That’s when it hits Dean. All those demons and angels forming Cas’s wings are _dead_. So many angels have fallen to Cas’s blade, or to his civil war with Raphael, or to his short stint as a god. Now, Cas has a chance to help them, to free them, and to put Heaven and Hell back in balance. 

This is Cas’s chance at redemption. 

Vaguely, Dean is aware of Sam and Cas talking, deliberating and making escape plans but Dean can’t stop staring at Cas. Dean notices the stressed lines at the corners of his mouth now, even though Cas keeps them well hidden. There’s worry in Cas’s eyes, barely perceptible but Dean knows Cas well enough to find it. Dean sees it now, sees Cas’s anxiety and recognizes how hard he’s trying to hide it, how hard he’s trying to keep it together, for all those beings in his wings and for Sam and Dean. 

Cas always took care of Dean, took care of Sam and Jack, took care of everyone.

It’s time someone took care of Cas.

Sparky agrees with Dean. When Dean stands beside Cas, Sparky leaps onto Cas’s shoulder. It hops up and down, dropping multicoloured sparks with each descent. 

In the middle of his sentence, Cas looks at his shoulder and offers a polite, “Hello.”

Sparky bounces, making that tittering noise, and glows brighter than before.

“Oh,” Cas breathes and Dean sees the tears in his eyes, “thank you.”

Dean doesn’t have to ask after Sparky’s words. Dean takes a deep breath, steels himself, and grabs Cas’s hand. 

Cas’s head snaps up, his eyes searching Dean’s face. Dean nods, laces their fingers together, and squeezes. Cas squeezes back. They smile at each other.

Sam clears his throat. “Anyway, I think Sparky’s right. We should try punching a hole.”

“Hey, Sparky’s my buddy.” Dean eyes the static, searching for a weak point. “I’m not risking it.” 

“You won’t have to.”

Dean goes rigid at the voice. Cas pulls Dean behind him and releases his hand, then yanks Sam back until he stands beside Dean. Together all three turn to the new arrival. Cas’s angel wings fan out wide, shielding Sam and Dean. 

Dean squints to see Billie, scythe gleaming wickedly in her living hand, standing directly across from Cas. She’s a few feet away, too close for Dean’s liking. He’d prefer her to be somewhere else, such as another dimension or planet. 

“I’m just trying to bring them home,” Cas says.

Billie hums. “They’re dead. They’re demons and angels. They belong here.”

Cas shakes his head. “You don’t belong here either.”

“Well.” Billie’s voice is ice cold. “I guess you should have thought about that before dragging me here, huh?”

Cas’s head drops. “I am sorry for that.” Cas squares his shoulders and raises his chin. “But not for protecting Dean. I won’t let you hurt him or Sam.”

Wind.

It blows again. Sam’s hair flutters in the breeze. It’s colder now, more noticeable. It comes from Dean’s left.

Sparky is on Cas’s shoulder. Dean can’t speak, not without calling attention to himself too soon. He yells Sparky’s name in his head, hoping like hell that it works. 

It does. Sparky understands the need for stealth. It is already tucked under the trench coat lapels so it dims its glow and rolls down Cas’s back. If Cas notices, he gives no indication. Dean reaches out and catches Sparky in his hand. He holds Sparky between his palms, keeping it out of sight. 

If Sparky understood that much, it must have heard part two. Dean hopes. 

“Sorry boys,” Billie says, “but I gotta hold up my end of the deal.”

Sam’s lips twitch, a sure sign he just thought of something. He steps forward. The wings push him back, not letting him walk into danger. Sam plants his feet and stands at his full height so he can peek out from over the curve of the wing. 

“This deal,” Sam shouts over the wing, “what does the Empty get?”

Billie blinks and inclines her head. At the same time, Cas turns his head towards Sam, his lips drawn in a thin line. 

“I mean,” Sam continues, “I’m guessing your end was getting us here. What does the Empty get?”

Billie doesn’t respond. Instead, she raises her scythe and flicks her wrist. Dean’s ready for a fight, expecting one, but Billie doesn’t attack. 

A dark ring, darker than the blackness of the Empty, wraps around Billie's wrist, slithering like a snake. A thin line of the same material connects to her shrivelled arm. Death is bound to the Empty.

“Me,” Billie says. 

She lowers her working arm and the handcuffs disappear. The butt of her scythe hits the darkness. The darkness ripples in response, flowing outward from Billie to Cas’s feet. The wind blows again, harder, and the static crackles in response. 

The scythe can affect the Empty. No wonder it wants Billie bound. Dean whistles, to catch Sam and Cas’s attention and points. 

“You really hate us that much?” Dean clutches Sparky in his hands, apologizing to it over and over in his head, and moves forward. The wings let him. “I mean, do you know why Cas is doing this?”

“I don’t care,” Billie replies.

“You should,” Dean says, “you’re all about the order of the universe right?”

“Funny, to hear you speak of order.”

Cas and Sam step in time with Dean. They march towards Death together. 

“I know, right?” The wings hide Dean, protect him. He tries to thank them in his thoughts. “People change.”

“Yeah!” Sam shouts, drawing Billie’s attention away from Dean. Soon, Dean wouldn’t be able to hide. “He gets all the angels to Heaven, some demons into Hell and restores balance. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Billie purses her lips, her stare unimpressed. The advance continues. Billie raises her scythe.

A few more steps and Dean will be there. He raises his hands, winds them back like he’s about to throw.

Step. Step. 

Cas stops. 

A tendril of light from the wings reaches out to catch the stumbling Dean before he falls. The other wing does the same for Sam.

“I’m sorry,” Cas says. 

Billie’s mouth drops open for a fraction of a second. It’s likely the most shocked she’s ever looked in her whole life. Or unlife.

“What?” Billie asks.

The darkness behind Billie shakes. A pillar of blackness shoots upwards. It splits open like a flower bulb with thick, creepy petals, and reveals the embodiment of the Empty sitting on its throne within. It holds a goblet in its hand, lifting it to a face that looks like Meg.

“Oh, come on! This is supposed to be a battle!” The Empty waves its goblet. Black shadows spill over the edges, dropping into the infinite nothing below. “Where is it?”

The Empty raises its arm. At the same time, like a puppet on a string, Billie lifts her scythe. 

“All I want,” the Empty shouts, bringing its arm down in an arc, “is to sleep!”

Billie slashes her scythe. The wings push Dean and Sam back. Cas remains behind, sidestepping the attack. 

“But you, Castiel,” the Empty hisses the name with hate in its voice, “just wouldn’t stay down!” 

With each word, the Empty slashes its arm. Billie responds with an attack. Cas dodges each one. 

The wings detach from Cas’s back. One enfolds Sam and they float through the air until he reaches the static wall. The other grabs Dean, wrapping around his waist. Dean struggles, tries to break free, tries to get to Cas but the light tightens its grip. While the light drags him backward, Dean loses his hold on Sparky. Dean can’t catch it before it becomes a speck in the distance. 

“Fight back!” the Empty cries.

With every attack, Billie gains ground. Cas lets her. He doesn’t release his angel blade, doesn’t do anything but back up. The Empty’s throne slides across the ground, following them.

“You!” Slash. “Made!” Slash. “It!” Slash. “Loud!”

The Empty’s borrowed face bleeds shadows. Cracks appear in its skin and darkness flows out from within. 

Dean never stops fighting the light, even though it flashes warning colours at him, even though it rings loud enough to hurt Dean’s ears. Dean doesn’t care. Dean needs to help Cas. He has to. He can’t lose him again. 

“Cas!” Dean shouts. 

He doesn’t know if Cas hears him. He just knows he’s desperate. Unable to move, Dean watches as Billie swings her scythe in a wide arc. Cas is distracted, his attention on something in the air, not Billie. The sharp edge of the blade cuts a piece off Cas's trench coat. That piece disintegrates, becomes absence. 

The Empty's lips wear away, its face peeling into a permanent grin. It can no longer form words. It can only scream. 

Cas is close now, so Dean tries to reach out. The light pulls Dean further away.

Dean can't see Sam over the smoke pouring from the Empty's form. The throne is a floating seat now. Its body becomes black bones.

Still, the Empty waves its arm, compelling Billie to attack, forcing her to move in wild jerks. Cas dodges easily.

The static wall turns solid grey. Grey, except for one white spot. It starts small but rapidly expands, its rounded corners stretching on either side. Cas leads Billie, and subsequently the Empty, to the centre of that spot. 

Wind.

It blows across the Empty. What's left of the Empty’s body struggles to maintain a cohesive form in the steady breeze. The black smoke flies back, the long tendrils a dark negative to Cas's white angel and demon smoke wings, until there is nothing left but absence. 

Billie pauses. She lowers her weapon, her face as unreadable as ever.

The light still doesn't let Dean go. He's pressed against the wall just shy of the white area. Sam is visible now, in a similar position on the opposite side of Dean. When the white area reaches the humans, it stops. The wind ruffles Sam and Dean's hair and flutters Cas’s trench coat. Though she is near, Billie is unmoved, unaffected. 

"Do you still wish to fight?" Cas asks. 

Billie doesn’t reply.

Cas stands up straight and brings his closed fist to his chest. When he opens it, he reveals a bright, blinding sphere of light. Beams of light containing every colour of the rainbow cut through the Empty’s nothingness. It extends and lengthens in Cas’s hand until it takes the shape of a sword. Cas grasps the handle and glows along with it. The light releases Sam and Dean and returns to Cas. Instead of two white wings like before, there are six, each one a different colour of the rainbow. 

Dean feels like he’s looking through a kaleidoscope but it’s right there before his eyes. He’s free to move now. He doesn’t. All he can do is stare in awe as the Empty’s dark nothingness fills with colour. 

Billie doesn’t raise one eyebrow. She raises both of them. It’s an expression of surprise, a big one for her. 

Cas lifts his shining, shimmering sword over his head. With one mighty swing, Cas whips around and cuts the middle of the white spot. It tears open like paper. The cut is perfectly straight, with no ragged edges in sight, and from within Dean sees sunlight. 

Once he finishes, Cas faces Billie once again. He swings his sword, slamming it against the darkness below him. Pulsating rainbows ripple across the darkness at his feet until they reach Billie. There is a sound like shattering glass then Cas flicks his sword arm and the weapon disappears in a shower of sparks. Cas closes his fist and the rainbows fade into darkness.

“Check your being,” Cas says.

Dean’s not sure what that means, but apparently Billie does. She sets her scythe upon the darkness and twists her wrist. No slithering shadows appear around it.

“You unbound me,” Billie says. “Why?”

“A gesture of solidarity,” Cas says. “If the word is to return to balance, the cycle of life and death must continue.”

“You’re offering me my job back.” At Cas’s nod, Billie scoffs. “Who’s to say I won’t try to take the seat of Heaven?”

“Because if you do,” Cas says, his six wings shimmering behind him, “I know how to stop you.”

A single, abbreviated laugh escapes Billie’s mouth. The corner of her mouth turns upward for one full second. 

“Then we have an understanding. And, if you don’t do as you promise”-- Billie turns her gaze on Dean, cold, dangerous-- “I know your weakness.”

Cas inclines his head then steps aside, exposing the cut behind him. Billie gives Cas a long, hard stare, then walks into the light. She’s gone. 

Extending a hand to Sam and Dean in turn, Cas pulls them to their feet. All three stand together and look into the sunlight, to the portal that will take them home.

“We should leave as well,” Cas says, “before the Empty takes form again.”

“It’s not gone?” Sam asks.

“No. It can’t walk upon the Earth.” Cas gestures to the portal. “It got too close and fell apart.”

“Right, well.” Dean claps his hands together. “I am _so_ ready to get outta here.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “same here. I can’t want to see everyone.”

“Everyone?” Dean lolls his head to the side so Sam can see the exaggerated waggle of his eyebrows. “Or just Eil--”

“Finish that sentence, Dean, and I am going to say everything I’ve been thinking about you and…” Sam taps his chin, pretending to think about it. “Someone. All of it. _All_ _of it_.” 

Dean shuts his mouth so fast his teeth clack together. Sam laughs. 

“What is he talking about?” Cas tilts his head in that inquisitive way of his.

Sam laughs harder.

Dean takes a deep breath. “Nothing, Cas, don’t worry about it.” He examines the portal, feels the sunshine heat his face, and chooses to blame that for his undoubtedly red cheeks. “So, what do we gotta do to get your friends through here?”

Cas’s wings flutter when he joins Dean. “You just have to remain until the last one is through.” Cas holds his fist out to Dean. “Someone wishes to see you.”

Dean doesn’t understand until Cas opens his fingers. 

“Sparky!” Dean extends his open palms. Sparky, now a rainbow coloured golf ball of light, hops right into them. “Hey, buddy! I thought I lost you. Sorry I was gonna throw you at Death.” Sparky rings and titters happily, spinning as it makes a figure eight. 

“Sparky thanks you,” Cas says. “You helped it remember what it is.”

Sparky jumps and lengthens in the air, becoming the same sword Cas wielded a moment ago. When it falls back into Dean’s palm, it's a cute little ball again. 

“Sparky is an archangel’s sword.” Sparky lets loose a proud chime at Cas’s words. “I thought they were all lost.”

“Really? Me too!” Dean grins. “Way to go, buddy. You cut us a way out of here!”

Sparky bursts into a shower of sparks. 

“It says that it was your ideas about the static that brought back its memory.” Cas takes Sparky from Dean’s hands. “It wanted to say goodbye.”

“Goodbye?” Dean can’t shake off the sense of loss.

“I’m guessing Sparky’s gotta go back to Heaven with the rest,” Sam says.

“Yes.” Cas turns around so his wings face the portal. “Which we should do now.”

Cas backs up until the wings touch the light. They ring as they are pulled into the portal, a happy, thankful sound. 

Sparky is the last to go. Once the wings all make it through, Cas faces the portal and holds his cupped hands before it. Sparky hops up and, after leaving one final burst of fireworks behind, enters the light. Dean waves goodbye. Sam does, too. Dean catches him. 

“There.” Cas smiles. It’s unburdened, truly happy. “It’s done.” 

“Guess it’s our turn.” Dean stands at the edge of the portal. When Sam joins him, Dean punches Sam on the shoulder. “You first.” 

Sam glances at Dean then Cas. He gets it. “Sure. Better see you soon.”

“You will,” Dean says.

Sam exchanges a nod with Cas then heads into the light. He’s gone. 

“And then there were two.” Dean offers a hand to Cas. “Together?”

Cas takes Dean’s hand, strong and sure. “Together.”

Dean grips Cas’s hand tight, determined to raise him from perdition. As one, Dean and Cas step into the light.


	3. Chapter 3

A gasping breath wrenches itself from Dean’s throat. He opens his eyes and sees that he is behind the wheel of Baby. Sam’s in the passenger seat beside him, panting. For a few seconds, all they do is breathe.

“Did--” Sam swallows then glances at Dean. “Did we make it?”

There’s no one in the backseat. It’s just Dean and Sam. That’s not all it’s supposed to be.

Dean opens Baby’s door. He steps onto a dirt road, surrounded by tall, broad-leaved trees and warm, gentle sunlight. The wind, its bite hinting at the approaching winter, carries the smell of rain. Birds chirps echo overhead. Though Dean can’t see it, he hears the sound of a flowing brook. The tree leaves flutter in the breeze and Baby’s dusty body reflects the fall colours. She wears her proper license plates.

They must have been in the Empty for a long time. Baby's covered in fallen leaves, dirt, and water spots. Every single one of Dean's joints pop when he stretches his arms above his head. He rests a hand on Baby's hood to stay upright as he works out the kinks in his legs.

Dean remembers now. He remembers leaving the bunker and driving into the sunset with Sam. He remembers feeling sleepy and pulling into a back road to get some rest. He remembers how the black tendrils enveloped him and Sam, how they dragged them into the Empty and into that dream.

The sound of Sam opening Baby's passenger door reminds Dean that the vampires in the barn aren't real. Dean would never let such a lowly monster get the drop on him, no way.

Sam climbs out of the car. He tilts his face toward the sun and closes his eyes.

“Sammy,” Dean says, “we made it.” 

Dean's alive. Sam’s alive. Jack's in Heaven, the real Heaven, and Cas--

There’s no one else around, no cars, no houses, no people.

No angels.

No matter how closely Dean studies the trees, no matter how far Dean walks down the road, Cas isn’t there.

But Dean held Cas’s hand. He made sure of it, made sure they walked through the portal together, so he wouldn’t lose Cas.

Sam waits by Baby. He watches Dean, his face sympathetic. Dean doesn’t want sympathy. Dean wants Cas. 

“C’mon,” Dean whispers into the wind, “where are you, man?”

The brook babbles.

Dean still thinks of it as begging, but right now he’s willing to beg.

The birds sing.

He presses his hands together, bows his head.

The wind blows and the sun shines.

And he prays.

It’s not a prayer with words. Dean doesn’t know what to say. Instead, he thinks of Cas. He envisions Cas’s face. He thinks about blue eyes: how they narrow in confusion, how they glow brightly with grace, how much they soften when they look at Dean. He thinks about the blue tie and how it took years before Cas learned to wear one the right way. He thinks about Cas cutting his hand, drawing a banishing sigil on the wall of the beautiful room and then, years later, how he did it again in the bunker's dungeon to keep Death out and Dean alive. Cas, always happy to bleed for the Winchesters.

Dean rubs his shoulder. He thinks about handprints, one burned into his skin and the other painted with blood. One is a hello. The other is a goodbye. Neither are visible but Dean carries them both with him like a mark, a brand upon his soul.

“Cas.”

One word, that’s all Dean needs to say. He fills that one syllable with all his longing, all his love. It has to be enough.

A sound comes from behind Dean, a sound he hadn’t heard in years. He'd almost forgotten it.

It's the flutter of wings.

Dean spins around and Cas is there, smiling, the sunlight shining off him like it’s his own personal spotlight.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says. “I was being restored in Heaven. Forgive me for being late.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. Dean _can’t_ say anything. He runs to Cas, grabs him by the shoulders, and holds him tight. Cas hugs him back.

And Dean’s crying now. He’s crying and he can’t stop it. Dean buries his face in Cas’s neck and clings to him because he’s here, he’s alive, he’s real.

This is real.

Upon that realization, Dean finds his words.

“You bastard.” Dean sniffs. “You fucking bastard. You say that. You say _that_ and then leave me. You--”

Cas runs a hand through Dean’s hair and shushes him. “I’m sorry.”

There is something Dean needs to say. It’s something Dean thinks about all the time, something he never gives voice to because of fear. Dean’s still afraid, he is, but he has to say it. He has to.

Dean raises his head and takes Cas’s face in between his hands. They hold each other gazes, something Dean always found easy to do with Cas but no one else. Cas sees everything when he looks at Dean, he always had, and still he loves. He loves Dean.

Dean licks his lips and takes a deep breath.

“Stay,” Dean whispers.

For the second time since Dean met him, Cas’s eyes fill with tears. Cas makes no effort to stop them. One rolls down his cheek. Dean wipes it away with his thumb.

“I can’t,” Cas breathes.

It’s not what Dean expects. It’s the exact opposite, in fact.

“What?” Dean doesn’t mean for it to come out so cold, so hurt, but he can’t help it.

Cas covers Dean’s hands with his own before Dean can back away. “I wanted to hear you say that for so long. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I want to. I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“There are thousands of angels to settle in Heaven. Talks with Rowena to have. An Empty to restructure. A Purgatory to change. Balance to regain.” Cas shakes his head. “Jack doesn't have a physical form. He’s chosen me to represent Him. I have work to do.”

“Let someone else do it.” Dean’s voice breaks.

“It has to be me. I’m the one who broke it. I’m the one who should fix it. I _want_ to fix it.” Cas lets go of Dean’s hands, cups the back of Dean’s neck, and presses their foreheads together. “I’ll return to you, I promise.”

Dean doesn’t think Cas needs to fix it. In Dean’s mind, Cas doesn’t owe Heaven anything. If anything, they owe him.

But it matters to Cas and, since it matters to Cas, Dean takes a deep breath and says, “You’re a real bastard, you know that?”

“I know.” Cas smiles when he says it.

Dean keeps saying goodbye to Cas. They’ve done it so many times and Dean hates it. It gets worse every time. They never do it right. 

It’s time for Dean to take a chance because he didn’t do it last time. He didn’t do it the time before. He didn’t do it before that, or ever. And he always regretted it.

Dean closes the scant distance between them and brushes his lips across Cas’s temple. Cas sighs and leans into the touch. The response encourages Dean, so he continues, trailing his lips over Cas’s cheekbone and across his jaw. Dean doesn’t stop, even though he’s shaking, even though his heart beats so hard in his chest he worries it will bust, and presses a small, gentle kiss against Cas’s lips.

Cas doesn’t let Dean leave. He tangles his hands in Dean’s hair and returns the kiss. Cas opens to Dean, invites him in, and he accepts it eagerly.

Dean kisses Cas soft and slow, taking his time tasting him. He kisses with his whole body, running his hands under Cas’s trench coat, under his suit jacket, and coaxing a few buttons of his dress shirt open. Sliding his hands across Cas’s smooth, warm skin, Dean rests his palms on Cas’s back. Dean pulls Cas closer, closer, closer.

The contact draws a deep groan out of Cas. He teases Dean’s bottom lip with his teeth and deeps the kiss. There’s no more space between them. They’re as close as they can get with their clothes on. They hold each other, cling to each other, try to occupy the same space because neither knows when they will have another chance to do this. Both of them want this to last.

Eventually, they have to let go. Cas’s lips are red and swollen when they break apart. His eyes shine, the blue bright, and Dean tries to commit the sight to memory. It’s hard to do, as the tears in his eyes blur the whole picture.

“You better come back to me.” Dean grabs Cas’s tie, knowing that a human can’t hold an angel down but thinking that it’s worth a try. “I love you, you asshole.”

Cas huffs out a laugh. He leaves a kiss on Dean’s forehead, his cheeks, the corners of his mouth.

“I will,” Cas says, “I love you. Good--”

Dean yanks Cas’s tie. “No. No goodbyes. No goodbyes because you’re coming back.”

“Yes. Of course.” Cas kisses Dean again and again and once more. “Until next time.”

“Until next time,” Dean echoes.

He lets go of Cas and it hurts, it hurts so fucking much, but he does because it’s what Cas wants, what Cas has to do. Dean loves Cas. Therefore, Dean has to let Cas go.

There's that saying about having to set something one loves free. Dean has to believe Cas will return. Then, he can be Dean's forever. 

Cas steps back from Dean. He offers Sam a wave. Then, with the sound of wings, he’s gone.

Staring at the empty space that once contained Cas, Dean tries to breathe. He scrubs a hand across his face and smooths back his hair. He attempts to gather himself but he knows he’s not successful. The look Sam gives him when he returns to Baby confirms it.

Dean tosses Sam the keys. Sam doesn’t comment, bless him once again, and climbs into the driver’s seat. Dean curls up on the passenger’s side, rests his head against the window, and doesn’t say a word the whole drive.

⁂

For a week, Sam allows Dean to wallow. He brings food to Dean’s door and leaves him alone on the rare occasion he leaves his room.

After a month, Sam forces Dean out of bed and into the shower. Once that’s done, Sam makes Dean eat a proper meal.

Two months later, Sam takes Dean to the grocery store. It’s a small thing, but it’s a way to get him around other people. Dean doesn’t like it. He appreciates what Sam’s doing all the same.

During the third month, Dean manages to dress himself and prepare his own meals. He’s a better cook than Sam, anyway. He spends a few days baking, stocking the bunker with Sam’s favourite cookies.

Month four, and Dean realizes Sam hasn't left the bunker more than a few hours at a time. It’s because of Dean, he knows it, and that doesn’t seem right.

For the first time since his return from the Empty, Dean checks his phone. There are messages, a _lot_ of messages, but Dean’s not ready to deal with them. The words he glimpses as he scrolls down are kind but he can’t. He can’t. He pauses at Cas’s name. It’s one of the two names without an icon next to it. The other is Jack's.

He finds the contact he’s looking for. He types a simple message. Immediately, he receives a response.

One more day goes by, then there is a quiet knock on the bunker's entrance.

Sitting at the library table, Sam looks up from his laptop and inclines his chin towards Dean. Dean shakes his head, managing to keep a neutral expression. Sam sighs and rolls his eyes but gets out of the chair and heads to the door. 

There's a shout of surprise, voices whispering, then nothing for a long while. Dean counts to ten, stands up, and peeks into the war room.

Sam and Eileen never made it down the stairs. They're framed by the bunker’s open doorway, holding each other. The sight is beautiful. It causes Dean’s heart to ache.

Dean doubts those two will move for a while. To give them some privacy, Dean moves to the kitchen. He decides it's time for his fifth attempt at making pie crust. The dough has become his new archnemesis.

As he's mixing in more flour, two pairs of feet rush past the door and down the hall. A door slams and Dean smiles. Good for them.

The next morning, Dean’s sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of coffee in hand. Eileen walks in, wearing one of Sam’s shirts. It’s almost long enough to be a full-length dress. She blushes when Dean raises his mug to her.

Five months after the Empty, Dean starts returning to the world. Sam’s not around as much since he’s with Eileen, which is an excellent thing, and Dean’s happy to see him happy. Dean doesn’t want to be in the silent bunker, so he takes frequent drives into town. 

There’s a new coffee shop in the centre of Lebanon. Dean becomes a regular. The same barista greets him every afternoon and has his coffee ready before he walks in. She always seems genuinely happy to see him and Dean tips her well.

It takes Dean a while to realize the barista is flirting with him. It catches him by surprise. A few years ago, he would have jumped on the opportunity. Now, however, he has no interest. Actually, he hasn’t had an interest in years.

Huh. He can’t remember the last time he picked someone up. These days, he prefers to spend his nights in the Dean Cave.

With Cas.

Oh. 

That’s been going on for years, huh? Dean can’t believe he’s just figuring it out now. 

It’s been half a year since the Empty. Sam announces that it's time to start hunting again. There’s no more angel and demon drama. There’s just the small fry: vamps and ghosts and werewolves. It’s nothing the Winchesters can’t take on in their sleep. Sam wants to continue saving people and hunting things. He invites Dean first, but Dean tells him to take Eileen. The two of them become quite the battle couple.

Dean stays in the bunker. He mans the phones. He looks up the lore. He makes sure there’s a meal on the table when the two of them come home.

When he’s alone in the bunker’s library, digging up musty tomes for Sam's newest case, Dean has an epiphany.

Dean doesn’t want to hunt anymore.

He and his brother own the largest and most vast collection of hunting lore in the United States. There are hundreds of hunters out there, fighting the good fight, that could make use of it. Dean looks at the endless bunker hallways, the empty rooms, and wonders if he can fill them.

Maybe it is time for Dean to pass all this on to the next generation of hunters.

Sam supports Dean’s plan. They make a few calls, those people make more calls, and then, eight months after returning from Empty, the bunker halls echo with hunters' voices.

There are people in and out of the bunker all hours of the day. It’s a good thing. It’s also overwhelming. Claire makes fun of Dean for hiding in his room but Dean just shakes it off.

A lot of the younger hunters are starstruck by Dean and Sam. To them, the Winchesters are legends. Sam uses that awe to become the leader he was always meant to be, forming a network of hunters with the bunker as the hub. He really gets into it, creating databases and writing lore. Eileen's the one who shows him how to make the information more accessible for everyone. The people love them both for it. One night, Sam shares a drink with Dean and tells him that he feels like he’s finally found peace. When Dean calls Sam the Bobby of the new age, they laugh and raise their glasses to Bobby’s memory.

Dean, on the other hand, doesn’t like being singled out. He's not special. He's just some guy. The hunters never get that memo, however, and keep asking him questions. They ask about Crowley and Rowena. They ask about the validity of Amara's identity. They can't wrap their heads around the fact that God has a sister. That's okay because neither can Dean.

They ask about angels. They ask about Cas.

Dean can't bring himself to answer those questions. The hunters who spend the most time in the bunker learn not to speak about it around Dean. New arrivals are taught eventually but, every once in a while, a question sneaks through.

But Dean handles it. He stays busy during the day, retreats to his room when things become too much, and makes the best of his life.

Cas wouldn't want Dean to be sad.

On the one year anniversary of escaping the Empty, Dean wakes up in his pitch black room and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t get up. He doesn’t want to get up. He can’t get up.

He hears the hunters milling about, their voices echoing down the hallways from the kitchen. They sound happy. When they walk by Dean’s door, they speak in hushed whispers. Dean has a feeling Sam told everyone to leave him alone. Dean doesn’t know if he’s annoyed or grateful. Actually, he can be both. 

There’s a hole in Dean’s chest. It’s been empty for a year now.

Cas wouldn’t want Dean to be sad.

Dean sits up, pushes back the covers, and turns on the light. 

It’s late by the time Dean leaves his room, carrying his laptop under his arm. The few hunters still present give him a nod but none speak. Yeah. Sam must’ve said something.

Dean sits at the library table. He runs his fingers over the names etched into the wood and takes a breath. He opens his laptop.

Cas wouldn't want Dean to be sad.

One year and six months after stepping into the light, Dean retires. Sam nods, expecting it when Dean tells him. Some of the hunters react in disbelief. Others wish him well. Jody and Donna jump for joy, literally, when Dean contacts them through video chat. They promise to let Claire and Kaia know as soon as they return from their latest hunt.

Once everything is packed up and ready for transport, Sam goes with Dean. Eileen assures Sam she'll keep everything running while he is away. Sam kisses her before he leaves. Dean has to look away.

The Winchesters brothers, just the two of them, climb into Baby for one last drive across the United States. They take their time, stopping whenever they please to do whatever they want. Dean makes Sam eat at all the diners so Dean can update his Top Ten Cheeseburgers List. Sam drags Dean into stuffy museums and dark libraries. He sends a bunch of photos to Eileen, some of them for work, some of them just for memories. Dean makes Sam promise to provide him with copies of those last ones.

And finally, one year and eight months post Empty, Dean reaches Maine. As soon as he parks Baby in the overgrown driveway, Dean realizes the house is even more of a fixer upper than he thought. The paint is peeling and faded, the porch wood is rotten, and the windows are cracked and broken. It’s a mess. Then again, that's probably how he got seaside property with a sizable amount of land at such a good price.

The amount of work doesn’t deter him. Dean loves the house right away. There’s room for a garden. Dean thinks Cas would like that there’s room for a garden.

Sam sticks around for a month, making sure Dean has water, heating, and electricity all up and running. He spends a lot of time on his phone, answering many hunters' questions and texting Eileen. It’s clear that he’s divided between his loyalty to those in Kansas and Dean. Once he realizes it, Dean takes Sam by the shoulders, looks him in the eye, and tells him it’s okay to go. Dean drives Sam to the airport the next day.

One year, eleven months, and one week after the Empty, Dean creates a life. He meets his neighbours, Millie and Betty, lifelong partners since the sixties. With Millie’s help, Dean finally masters the creation of pie crust. He bakes a mean cherry pie now.

He works part-time at the local coffee shop. He doesn’t need to, not with Charlie's magic credit card still usable, but he likes the human connection. He finds that, whenever a customer gives him a hard time, all he has to do is narrow his eyes and they are all smiles. His boss loves him, doesn't ask questions, and has no issues paying Dean in cash. His coworkers are amazed by the way Dean rakes in the tips. Once they spilt them, Dean adds his back into the jar when nobody is looking.

Dean fishes with Joe and Abed every Saturday. Abed owns the boat. Dean’s favourite cashier at the grocery store is named Debra. She always has a story to share about her grandkids. Bill owns the hardware store Dean frequents. After Dean spends a small fortune there fixing up his house, Bill teaches Dean a thing or twelve about home improvement.

The sound of the ocean waves lulls Dean to sleep every night. The cries of gulls act like an alarm clock. The smell of the salt air greets him every morning. Dean learns to love it.

Sam stays in touch with Dean. They talk every couple of nights on the phone. Dean answers a few questions here and there from hunters. Sometimes a newspaper headline catches his eye and he passes that information to Sam.

Dean draws devil’s traps under the rugs in his house. He leaves salt lines on the windowsills. He keeps a gun under his pillow. He never leaves the house without a silver knife in his pocket. Sure, he's out of the game but that doesn't mean he stops taking precautions.

Dean carves out a place for himself. He builds the house he's always wanted. The television in the living room takes up an entire wall and the surround sound system blows his hair back. It's awesome. He buys a second-hand foosball table and puts it behind the couch because he doesn't have a place for it yet. The new stove in the kitchen lets him cook to his heart's content. The spare room is ready for Sam’s first visit. It's almost perfect; it's almost a home.

He still needs to fix the bathroom. The dining room is a ripped up mess of bare walls, scattered tools, and scraps of building materials. There are boxes around every corner and he still can't find the right table for the kitchen. He's got work to do. That's okay, though, because now Dean has all the time in the world to finish it.

The porch wood is replaced, weatherproof, and stable. All the windows are fixed and sealed in time for winter. Dean paints the outside of the house in his favourite shade of blue. 

There’s room for a garden. Dean builds walls for it, even sets down some fresh soil, but he doesn’t plant anything in it.

Because he’s not the one who should use it. 

It’s a good life, a quiet life, a peaceful life. Within it, Dean finds contentment.

Two years after the Empty, Dean wakes up to howling winds. The waves crash against the shore. Dean lays in bed and listens. 

Winter’s on its way. He’s been warned about the cold and the wet heavy snow. Betty even buys Dean a parka, citing her worry that it will snow early. He’s looking forward to wearing it.

He has nowhere to be so he spends the day inside the house he built for himself. He texts Sam a good morning. He gets one right back. Dean bets Sam sat by the phone for a while, fully aware of the date, wondering if he should say something first.

But it's okay. Dean’s okay. He really is.

Wow.

He watches _Tombstone_ and thinks of Cas. It aches. It always aches when Dean thinks of Cas but it is with fondness. He remembers the first time he watched this movie with Cas. Dean spent more time paying attention to Cas than anything else. 

“I’m your huckleberry,” Dean says along with the movie, trying to match Cas’s growl.

Dean smiles.

He misses Cas. He will always miss Cas. But Cas is out there, alive, literally doing God’s work. That brings Dean comfort. Dean can wait for Cas. Dean will wait his whole life for Cas if need be.

The wind picks up late in the evening and continues into the night. The house rattles and creaks. It makes Dean a little nervous but his good workmanship holds up. Dean settles into bed and hopes like hell no one is out there. They’d need cinder blocks for feet to stay upright. 

There’s a knock at the door.

Dean thinks he imagines it at first but then it happens again.

Well, if someone needs help, Dean better provide it. Dean slips on his slippers and the Dead Guy Robe he couldn’t bear to leave at the bunker then hurries downstairs.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” Dean grumbles when there’s another knock.

Dean checks to make sure the gun is still taped under the table by the entrance, then opens the door. As soon as he sees who is behind it, Dean freezes in place.

With windswept hair, bright red cheeks, and shining blue eyes, Cas stands in the doorway of Dean’s house. He’s wearing the trench coat, though it's half-off his shoulders due to the wind. His tie is completely backwards, the tongue of it falling down his back.

Dean blinks. He blinks again and Cas is still there. Cas is still there and he’s real. He’s real!

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says. “May I come in?”

Wordlessly, Dean steps aside. Once Cas is inside, Dean closes the door. Cas glances around the entryway and finds the coat closet. He removes the trench coat and hangs it up.

The dude’s practically naked now with only two whole layers. Dean’s throat goes dry. When Cas turns around, face expectant, Dean swallows and leads Cas into the kitchen.

Cas runs his hands across the countertops, checks inside the fridge, and rifles through the cupboards. Dean lets him. Dean’s grown used to Cas digging through his stuff. Strangely enough, when Cas does it, Dean doesn’t mind. Anyone else, especially Sam, would get yelled at.

Dean walks further into the room and leans against the counter. Cas moves to join him, keeping the barrier between them.

“You’ve always wanted granite countertops,” Cas says. “I’m glad you chose them.”

Dean told Cas that once, years ago, during some late night in a motel room. It shouldn’t be such a shock that Cas remembers. He loves Dean, of course he remembers.

Holy shit. Cas loves Dean.

“Cas, you--” Dean can’t think when Cas looks at him like that. “Hi.”

“Hello,” Cas replies and he’s so damn cute when he smiles.

And that smile makes Dean realize something. It’s bashful, a little shy. Cas is nervous. 

“How’ve you been?” Dean asks.

“Busy.” Cas raises his hands and turns them over, staring them down like he would a demon. “I’ve been a wavelength for a while. Do I look okay?”

Dean grins. “Yeah, Cas. You look great.”

“Oh, okay.” Cas smooths back his hair. “Good. That’s good.”

As soon as Cas lifts his hands, his hair pops back up. That makes Dean happy. Dean digs the windswept look.

“So, you’re all done?” Dean asks. “Heaven’s got its facelift?”

Cas gives Dean the classic squint'n’tilt and fuck Dean had missed him so much.

“Yes,” Cas says. “I think you’ll like it.”

“Really?” Dean rubs his chin. “What’d you do?”

And Cas, asshole that he is, peers deeply into Dean's eyes and says, “I can’t spoil the surprise.”

“C’mon Cas, not even a little hint?”

“You’ll find out when you get there.” Cas pauses and considers his words. “A long, long, time from now.” 

“Yeah, okay. A long, long, _long,_ time from now.”

They lapse into silence. Cas traces patterns into the countertop, not meeting Dean’s eyes. It’s kind of awkward. Dean never thought their reunion would be awkward.

Dean clears his throat, ready to speak, when Cas says, “I’m sorry.”

“What?” Dean asks.

“I’m sorry I took so long.” Cas looks up and holds Dean in place with his gaze. “I wanted to come back. I wanted to come back every day.”

“It’s okay, man. Rome wasn’t built in a day and I bet the afterlife wasn’t either.”

It takes a second but Cas figures out what Dean means. “I suppose not. When I came back and Sam told me you moved…”

Dean has a feeling there’s more to that sentence. “I retired. I moved out of the bunker but I didn’t--” Dean reaches across the counter and grabs Cas’s hand. “I didn’t move _on_.”

“Oh.” And Cas gets it. Dean can tell. Cas squeezes Dean’s hand, smiles. “You retired.”

“Yeah. You like the place?”

“Yes. It feels like you.” Cas lets go of Dean’s hand and comes out from behind the counter. “Like a happy you.”

“Almost happy.” Dean walks toward Cas. It's almost perfect; it's almost a home. “Could use a garden.” 

Cas hums. “I suppose, come spring, I could plant some seeds.”

“Yeah?” Dean takes one more step and Cas is there, right there in front of him. It’s a home. _He's_ home. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

Dean grabs Cas’s hips and pulls him into a kiss. Cas's lips are soft and eager. Dean slides the suit jacket off Cas’s shoulders. It falls to the ground with a whisper.

Somehow, Dean manages to lead Cas into the bedroom without letting go of him, without ending the kiss. Cas practically rips off Dean’s clothes when they get there. In the short distance between the door and the bed, Dean’s stripped bare.

Cas pushes Dean down on the bed, resting his entire weight upon him. Cas kisses Dean slowly, sweetly, running his hands down every inch of Dean’s bare skin. He does it with such intensity, such focus, that Dean can only lay there and allow himself to be worshiped. 

Dean’s already a mess by the time Cas draws back and straddles Dean’s hips. Cas's nimble fingers loosens his tie then, one by one, he frees the buttons on his shirt. Dean rests his hands on Cas’s thighs, squeezing the thick strong muscles that had a starring role in many of Dean’s dreams, and enjoys the show.

Cas removes his shirt and tie in agonizingly drawn out movements, making Dean wait in anticipation for every inch of bare skin. Dean resists the urge to trace the muscles on Cas's chest. Instead, Dean watches with wide-eyed anticipation as Cas trails a hand down his chest, his tongue darting out invitingly from between his lips. Cas frees the shirt sleeves from around his writs and tosses the shirt and tie across the room. They flop onto the floor, not that Dean notices, and Cas spends an endless moment observing Dean. Dean lays there, the slight grace glow in Cas's eyes pinning him in place, and feels like Cas is praying to him.

Cas returns to Dean, his mouth demanding and needy, but so is Dean. He scratches his nails down Cas’s back and Cas growls, pressing closer to Dean. Heat surges through Dean’s body and pools in his core. He reaches lower and, after a brief struggle with the belt buckle, shoves Cas's pants and boxers down his hips.

When Dean wraps his hand around Cas’s cock, he moans, deep and throaty in Dean’s ear. It’s the most beautiful sound Dean has ever heard in his life. Dean strokes Cas, working in time with the thrusts of his hips. Cas buries his face in Dean’s neck, teases the sensitive spot below Dean’s ear, and gasps his pleasure, unrestrained, unabashed.

Dean arches his back, wanting, needing, to feel every inch of Cas's skin. Dean squeezes Cas’s ass and grinds against him. Their cocks slide together and Cas ruts against him, the bed frame squeaking at the intensity of the motion.

Trying to touch as much of Cas as possible, Dean pushes Cas’s pants down as far as he can. They end up stuck somewhere around Cas's knees. Dean would rather have them all off but there’s no fucking way he’s letting Cas stop. His mission ends when Cas braces one hand on the bed beside Dean’s head and runs the other down Dean’s side. He grabs Dean’s thigh and hooks it around Cas’s hip.

The new angle makes Dean throw his head back, close his eyes, and moan in a way he never had before. Cas leans forward and catches the sound with his lips.

Cas makes love to Dean. It’s a phrase Dean’s never liked but it’s the only way to describe it. Cas rests his forehead against Dean, kissing him gently after every whimper, every moan. When Dean opens his eyes he sees Cas watching him, his eyes dark with arousal but bright with love.

Dean gives himself over wholly to Cas, trying so hard to give the same back to Cas but he can’t. He can’t because Cas gives and gives and gives Dean everything, over and over and over again.

But Dean tries. Oh, God, does he try. 

It’s overwhelming, Cas’s love, and all Dean can do is hold onto Cas, hold onto his back with his hands, hold onto his hips with his thighs, hold onto his heart with his soul.

But Dean can’t hold on to all of that at once. It’s too much. It’s too much. It’s too much. 

Dean’s release builds, threatening to take him over. All his muscles tighten and he goes taut under Cas. Heat pulsates throughout his body, converges between his legs and he can’t stop it. He can’t stop it even though he wants to hold on a little longer, to give Cas a little more.

“You’re beautiful,” Cas whispers, adoration in every word, “so beautiful.”

The words unlock Dean. He bursts at the seams, shatters, and gasps Cas’s name. He moans the name again and again because it’s the one thing he remembers, the one thing that matters, the one thing of which Dean is certain.

Cas kisses Dean through it, though there’s no finesse to it. Cas is gasping too, falling over the edge right along with Dean.

Cas collapses on top of Dean, and they become a mess of loose limbs and stickiness. In a few minutes Dean will care about that but, right now, he’s so satisfied he can’t move. They kiss again, gentle and unhurried, until they come back to themselves. 

Dean’s pretty sure he’ll never get tired of kissing Cas. Nah. He's certain.

Cas waves his hand and Dean’s situation is not so sticky anymore. Wow. That’s handy.

“Do you think using your powers like that is blasphemous or something?” Dean asks.

Cas climbs off of Dean and finally takes off his pants. Dean props himself up on his elbows for a better look.

Awesome.

Cas slides under the covers. Dean follows suit, accepting Cas’s embrace without hesitation.

“I can use my powers however I want,” Cas says. “I am the Father of God, after all.”

Dean snorts. “I guess you are.”

Cas presses his lips against the crown of Dean’s head. He runs his hand up and down Dean’s chest. The touch is so good, so damn good, and Dean squeezes in closer. For the first time in his life, Dean feels completely warm, safe, happy, and loved. He rests his head on Cas’s chest and falls asleep to the steady drumbeat of his heart.

⁂

It’s snowing outside when Dean wakes up. He can see the white flakes through the gap in the blinds. They drift through the air, light and lazy. With his head still pillowed in Cas’s chest, Dean watches them.

Cas runs his fingers through Dean’s hair and, just like a cat, Dean closes his eyes in satisfaction.

“Morning, sunshine,” Dean says.

“Sleep well?” Cas asks.

“Fantastic.” When Cas scratches Dean’s scalp he lets loose a satisfied groan. “You get bored watching me sleep?”

“Not at all.”

Dean opens his eyes. He glances up at Cas and tries to reflect the love he sees there. Sighing in contentment, Dean traces the tattoo on Cas’s hip. When Cas makes a move to get out of bed, Dean pushes him back down.

“Stay,” Dean whispers.

And Cas does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There, see? They do get a happy ending. Sometimes, you just gotta do the work yourself, eh?  
> Thanks, friends! I hope this brought you a little peace. <3  
> [Here's my Tumblr!](https://thisisapaige.tumblr.com/) I'd love for you to say hello! <3


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